Empire's Ills
by Lycanthropic Nerev
Summary: The first part of what may be a longer story about a mercenary named Aeneas. Maybe oneshot, maybe not, so it's labeled "In progress."


Empire's Ills

Mid Summertide in the Imperial City. A beautiful sight, if you can stand the mosquitoes. My name is Aeneas, and I am a mercenary.

I was sitting on a bridge overlooking the Rumare. It would nearly be time to go. I spent another five minutes looking into the dazzling sunset, then I stood and began my walk.

The first thing I had to do was simply stroll. I was looking over the buildings, the ancient architecture, some the white marble the buildings are all made of nowadays, but far more were either the converted golden buildings of the Ayleids or the few massive structures the Emperor could make.

I headed for the market district. I liked this district most, the noise and crowds moving gave the city it's sense of vibrancy and health. I walked by all the old cauponas and oddity stalls with a sense of nostalgia, as the loud crowds jostled me. Here, all were equal. I saw an Elder Council member trying to beat the mule dung out of the hem of his robes as common plebeians like myself stood and laughed. I sat back on the steps to an inn and watched pickpockets bump around as guardsmen missed them, either out of incompetence or corruption.

I started walking again after seeing a disturbing sight. A young girl, maybe seventeen, only two years younger than myself at the time, was being followed. I stealthily followed behind the shifty man in the russet cloak. Half of me was itching for a fight. The other half was hoping the girl was smart enough not to go into any secluded alleys. But this was the Imperial City, no matter what they say about Imperial education, none of it's ever worth a damn because the corrupt Bureaucracy milks it so much. If you couldn't guess it already, she turned into one of the many secluded gardens.

The stalker picked up his pace. I did likewise, but while he moved with unsettling smoothness through the crowds, I began to knock into people, causing a small uproar over some product that was taking precedence over a human life. Typical Imperial enterprise: Get what you want at any cost. I avoided an enraged old Altmer woman and ducked into the alleyway. I saw the man draw a knife and reach down to his pants to ready his "higher parts."

I had only a second to react. I sprinted and dropkicked him in the back of the head. He half-turned just before I made contact, and my mercenary's traveling boots raking down the back-left of his head all but scraped his ear off. He fell forward, his razor sharp dagger flying up in the air and sticking into a fallen log.

I still don't know why, but I was enraged. I jumped on the back of my prone enemy and began punching the back of his head over and over while the girl screamed. I kept hitting until he stopped struggling and I wasn't hitting skull anymore.

I turned him over.

"Oh, no." I muttered. "Councilor Catilina."

Councilor Catilina: A senior member of the Elder Council. His name besmirched by previous misdeeds that most thought idle gossip. Councilor Catilina: attempted rapist and…

"I've killed him…" I muttered. I felt odd. I had never killed a man before, but I was off to become a mercenary. I've seen, these many years since, men break down when they first kill a man. I've seen them cry out in elation, I've seen them become like echoes and shadows. I simply stood.

I stood, dumbstruck, for only a moment. If I was caught standing bloody over the corpse of an Elder Council member it was the Lions for me. I bolted.

I needed to get to the waterfront. There were never any guards there and that's where my ship was. So I climbed up one of the uneven gold buildings, using the protrusions like ladders until I was on top. First I ran and jumped as far away as I could which took me to a famous real estate company's roof. I used the protrusions to climb down and landed right in front of a guard.

He had to take all of one second to realize that I had done something terrible. It was here I fulfilled the first of the Mercenary's Oaths: Kill or be Killed. I whipped out my own knife and raked it across, between his helmet and his cuirass. I was lucky: he was slovenly and hadn't tied his helmet-strap properly. His throat opened and sprayed like a geyser.

I ran, being meters away before he'd even hit the ground. I bolted towards the sound of seagulls and ship crewmen. I dodged aside a guard who ignored me: corrupt. I ran into the docking area and positively sprinted to the galley that was to take me out. I ran up the gangplank just before it was raised, and we cast off.

At this point it finally hit me: I had just been the violent and brutal end of two men, neither definitely guilty of anything except being about to commit a crime of any kind or simply being in my way. I sank to the deck against the rail. Two men. Two families destroyed, many lives possibly thrown to poverty and ignominy by losing their providers. I nurtured these thoughts for many years. In my nightmares, the two faces I see most vividly among the hundreds of men I've killed are Councilor Catilina and the nameless sentinel.


End file.
